


A Weapon is All You Need

by orphan_account



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Banter, Deaf Clint Barton, Humor, M/M, Phil Coulson is a BAMF, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-04-28 14:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5094545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just Phil Coulson's luck to be captured by the Avengers - a group of vigilantes that operate outside the law to fight villainy - immediately after SHIELD changes its policy regarding hostage negotiation. </p><p>Left without any backup from SHIELD, as per the orders of the damn World Security Council, Phil has to find a way to get a message back to his family, learn to deal with a gaggle of superheroes, and resolutely ignore his hopeless crush on Hawkeye.</p><p>Hawkeye, Phil quickly learns, is not easily ignored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shit Out of Luck

**Author's Note:**

> Black Lagoon-esque AU, now with more superheroes. Warnings for guns (and a bow), violence, some blood, foul language, and a very disgruntled SHIELD agent.

When the familiar weight of a gun comes to rest at the back of Phil's head, he realizes that the plan has gone awry.

He's experienced with these kinds of situations - it's a horrible thing to say, but it's true - so he simply raises his hands, slows his breathing, and waits for the next move.

"Good," says the person behind him - a low, husky voice, the barest hint of an accent, feminine, coming from a level lower than his own head. Most probably a woman, indeterminate age between twenty to fifty, shorter than he is. "You are going to turn around slowly, with no sudden movements, and keep your hands raised. There are two guns and a sniper trained on your exact location. Do you want to risk disobeying?"

Phil turns around slowly, with no sudden movements, and keeps his hands raised. Beyond the gun muzzle staring him right in the face stands a redheaded woman, with another gun trained directly at his abdomen. With Phil's luck, the sniper thing wasn't a lie either.

"Good," says the Black Widow. "As long as you do what I say, we get what we're here for and everyone gets out alive."

Phil's brain immediately flashes to SHIELD's file about her. Last identified by alias Natalie Rushman, age unknown, female, vigilante, deadly, immediate threat.

She's most probably got Hawkeye with her as well, and Phil isn't willing to test the accuracy that Hawkeye - Clinton Francis Barton, early thirties, male, vigilante, deadly, immediate threat - is renowned for.

"We have locked down the handler," the Widow says, speaking into her comm without looking away from Phil. Her hands are steady. "Backup unnecessary. Proceed as originally planned."

"You knew we would be here?" Phil asks. He doesn't expect an answer, and is proved right.

They stay that way for a number of moments - 27 seconds according to Phil's internal clock, give or take half a second - before another pair of footsteps sounds down the corridor.

"Well hello, Agent!" calls a far too cheerful voice for the current situation. "I see you've made the acquaintance of the Black Widow already. The name's Man, Iron Man, and I will be your captain today. Thank you for choosing to fly with the Avengers airlines, we hope your journey will be a pleasant experience."

The Widow's mouth curls into the faintest of smirks when Iron Man extricates the pistol in Phil's holster, and the one in his shoulder holster, and, for good measure, takes away his watch. Phil still has his throwing knives, so he isn't too worried about Tony Stark, late twenties, male, vigilante, deadly, immediate threat.

"Anyway," Iron Man continues undeterred, his faceplate raised. "We heard SHIELD was trying to bust the latest supervillain, so we decided, out of the kindness of our hearts, to give you a hand. Sorry for the hostage situation by the way, it's an unfortunate necessity to ensure SHIELD doesn't just drop an airstrike on top of us."

Phil tries to disguise his laugh as a cough. From the knowing look the Black Widow sends him, he isn't entirely successful. "That's one way of putting it," he says.

"Aw, you see?" Iron Man says, patting him companionably on his head. "It's so easy when we can all get along. Not like those blustery agents who have to assert dominance and end up with a bullet in their thigh for their trouble."

Iron Man is leaning close enough for Phil to pick up the sound from his comm. "Villain of the day's been dealt with," says a male voice - most likely Captain America, their de facto leader - "Lead the handler to his junior agents for now. We need to negotiate terms with SHIELD."

"You hear that, Agent?" Iron Man says, and jerks his head towards the door. "Just walk through there, then down the staircase, and you'll be reunited with your ducklings as soon as possible."

Phil does as instructed, and, upon entering the doorway, finds himself face to face with a Nordic giant of a man.

"Our most gracious apologies for the situation," booms Thor - an alien from a different realm, age unknown, male, vigilante, deadly, immediate threat - gesturing to the gaggle of junior agents huddled in a corner. "Our quarrel lies with the villain, not with the honorable SHIELD. We will see to it that you will be reunited with your agency once more."

"Yeah, don't worry." Hawkeye drops from the ceiling, spiky hair in disarray, bow clutched protectively in hand. He winks at Phil. Phil bites down on his tongue. Hard.

"What's the plan, Cap?" Iron Man says into his comm. "We've rounded up the agents."

Phil isn't close enough to hear the response this time, but from the way Iron Man hums, it's probably a positive reply.

The entirety of SHIELD has been briefed, by now, on how to react when the Avengers manage to hijack an op. As much as Fury blusters about SHIELD being the most advanced defence organization in the world, even he can't ignore how often the Avengers manage to outwit them, outpace them, and, at times, oust them.

Phil, being the main coordinator of said briefings, knows SHIELD's conduct for dealing with the Avengers better than any other agent in employment. He also knows that, after the most recent fiasco involving the Avengers, Fury has put his foot down on hostage negotiation.

Phil understands why. Fury doesn't want to set a precedence for caving in to the whims of the Avengers whenever they manage to capture some of his agents, which is quite often. The fact of the matter is, SHIELD is going to storm the place no matter how many hostages are threatened, and it's now Phil's responsibility to get as many agents as possible to safety.

Captain America and the Hulk are last through the door, the former escorting the blanket-covered latter to the couch - Steven Rogers and Robert Bruce Banner respectively, both male, both in late twenties, vigilantes, deadly, immediate threats - and Iron Man immediately begins making noise about establishing contact with SHIELD HQ.

Phil waits for the most opportune moment, and when Iron Man begins to debate how much the junior agents would be worth in the negotiation, he makes his move. "Why do you need the junior agents?" he asks.

It's apparently impossible to make Iron Man nonplussed. He rubs his fingers together. "Why, dear Agent, for insurance of course. Good plans have gotten quite expensive nowadays, so we've had to resort to using SHIELD agents as a resource."

"But I-" Phil starts, before closing his mouth (with an audible snap, Nick would be proud), clenching his jaw, and lowering his gaze.

He can practically feel the way Iron Man focuses on him. "Oho," says Iron Man circling him like a shark. "Is there a chance we've stumbled on a senior agent?"

"Tony-" starts the Captain, before hastily correcting himself to "Iron Man, are you sure-"

"Hey, you," Iron Man says, turning to one of the junior agents. "What can you tell us about your handler?"

Just as Phil was banking on, the junior agent can't keep his eyes from flicking away to meet Phil's gaze. SHIELD really needs to institute mandatory acting courses in the academy. This is disgraceful.

"JARVIS," Iron Man says, "Can you run a facial recognition scan on our dear friend agent here?"

"Tony-"

"Certainly, sir," says a disembodied voice, and a few junior agents legitimately jump at the sound. Phil fights the urge to slam his head into the nearest wall. Standards have definitely been lowered in recent years. "Closest match found is of one Phillip James Coulson, SHIELD employee. Born in Wisconsin, son of Robert and Julie Coulson, recruited into SHIELD out of high school. Currently operates as a level eight agent."

So apparently the rumors are true. Iron Man's managed to hack into the SHIELD mainframe.

Hawkeye lets out a low whistle. "Jeeze, dude," he says. "I've never seen one of those before."

"There are three of them," says the Widow, and her guns inch ever so slightly closer to Phil. "The highest I've dealt with is a level six."

Iron Man is cackling. Loudly. "Looks like it's our lucky day," he says. "All right. Thor, escort the junior agents to the nearest boat-"

"Tony!" the Captain yells, finally managing to get Iron Man's attention. "Are you sure this is a good idea? If it turns out we've been played, we're just making ourselves an easy target."

Iron Man raises a hand to his heart in mock offence. "Capsicle, are you doubting JARVIS?" he gasps, eyelashes fluttering theatrically. "His facial recognition software is second to none. I built him myself."

"Then the way ahead is simple," Thor says. Phil tries not to wince at the volume. "We escort the junior agents out of the line of fire, inform SHIELD of their location, and use Agent Coulson as our collateral to ensure a safe withdrawal. It would not do for us to call ourselves heroes without attempting to put as few innocents in danger as possible."

"SHIELD agents aren't innocent," Hawkeye says, but there's a hint of something darker lurking underneath there. Phil fights to keep his eyes downcast. He's used to interrogating suspects, and he knows that there must have been a reason for him to state his opinion so bluntly. If he was able to establish eye contact, it would be much easier to eke out said reason.

In the privacy of his own mind, Phil also admits that his interest in observing Hawkeye could also, potentially, have something to do with the way the man's shoulders are delineated by the fit of his uniform.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Iron Man waves a hand. "Saving innocents, yadda yadda, loss of life, blah blah blah. Thor just needs to escort the baby agents out of the way and we'll keep an eye on our friendly neighborhood level eight."

Phil uses every ounce of willpower he can muster to keep the relief from showing on his face.

Thor escorts the junior agents out, while the Widow keeps her guns pointed unerringly at his head and his stomach.

"I'm really hungry," Hawkeye says, apropos of nothing.

"Cl- Hawkeye," the Captain starts, from where he's slumped on the couch, before letting himself trail off. "Yeah, I could go for some food."

"Well, that makes three of us!" says Iron Man. "I'll just pop over to-"

"Not shawarma," says the Hulk, from underneath his blanket. "We've had it three times in a row now."

"But-"

"Tony."

"But-"

"Tony..."

"But I-"

"Not shawarma," the Widow says decisively, and that's that.

Thor claps his hands when he strides through the door. "I've ensured the safety of the junior agents," he says, booming voice echoing through the small room. "They are on the ship they arrived on, left with strict instructions to remain stationary for the next thirty minutes or risk being struck by lightning."

"Great!" Iron Man says. "Now all we need to do is-"

The muted boom of impact reverberates through the compound, the following explosions rattling the furniture, metal scratching against the concrete floor.

"What the hell was that?" Hawkeye asks, an arrow pointed directly at Phil in less time than it takes to blink. "I didn't spot any explosives."

"That was an air strike, sir," JARVIS's disembodied voice says. "If my calculations are correct, another will hit immediately after-"

Another boom sounds, and this time, Phil lets himself smile.

"You-" Iron Man starts, then stops, at a loss for words for the first time.

"Told you SHIELD agents aren't innocent," Hawkeye says, and Phil carefully ignores the sinking feeling in his stomach when he's faced with the full force of Hawkeye's glare.

"Clever," the Widow murmurs thoughtfully, before raising her voice. "Clint and I can escort our wily agent. The rest of you need to get Bruce back to safety. We don't want to risk an involuntary hulk out."

"I'm really sorry," the Hulk says, adjusting his glasses nervously. "If I could, I would-"

"Don't worry about it," Iron Man says, wrapping his arms around him. "Thor, I need an escape route."

Thor flings his hammer upwards with a grunt, smashing a whole through the concrete roof and, apparently, the twenty or so meters of earth that separate the underground compound from the outside world. Iron Man takes off just as Thor's hammer returns, and Thor follows immediately with the Captain in tow.

"If you try anything funny, I'll shoot you between the legs," Hawkeye says, tone light and words anything but. "Start moving. We need to clear out."

Phil nods. He knows what comes next. He's done his job, and all that's left is for him to wait to be disposed of. He gives himself a moment to feel regretful, the emotion nearly drowning him in its intensity - he's never going to see his family again, never going to go home again - before he carefully compartmentalizes it and files it away in his mind under "Things that should not be thought about."

"I do have a question," the Widow says, as they hurry through the underground paths of the compound. "I was under the impression SHIELD would protect the lives of its agents by all means necessary. The air strike came in before we even managed to communicate with the Director."

After a moment, when it becomes clear she isn't planning to continue any time soon, Phil prompts, "You had a question?"

The Widow's brows scrunch together, almost imperceptibly. If Phil hadn't had as much experience reading people, he would've missed it.

"Wow, you really gave her some time to think," Hawkeye mutters.

"No," the Widow murmurs. "I thought SHIELD laid greater value in the worth of their agents' lives."

Phil shrugs, before wincing when Hawkeye shoves the tip of his nocked arrow into the base of Phil's spine. "That was actually painful," he says, and Hawkeye makes a noise that, if it was louder and contained less swearwords, could've passed for an apology.

They continue to move silently, pausing once more for another round of earth-shaking explosions. When they reach the front gate of the compound, it takes a moment to realize that the Widow has disappeared. Could this be his chance?

Phil draws in a breath, preparing to turn the tables on his captor, and is rewarded with the tip of an arrow pressing gently against his nape.

"Is that better?" Hawkeye asks silkily. Phil can hear a faint smile coloring his words.

"Much, thank you," Phil says, biting back a growl.

"You SHIELD agents really don't waste time, huh," Hawkeye says, apparently undeterred by Phil's poorly-concealed frustration. "The last one was quick to catch on, but you're even faster. Then again, level eight, so maybe I shouldn't be surprised."

Phil stays silent.

"Tell me something," Hawkeye says, and Phil has to grit his teeth when the arrowhead presses ever so slightly harder into the skin of his neck. "What are the conditions for rising up the ranks in SHIELD?"

"How good you are," Phil bites out. If Hawkeye's trying to make him lose his composure, it's working very, very well.

"Oh, that's weird." Hawkeye jabs the arrow into Phil's neck, and Phil has to clench his fists to prevent from crying out. When Hawkeye speaks again, his voice is harsh, laced with a dangerous undercurrent of anger. "I thought it had to do with numbers."

"Numbers?"

Too late, Phil realizes he's forgotten to mask his confusion, but the pressure of the arrow relents slightly.

"Numbers," Hawkeye repeats, this time a little less vehemently. Phil really wishes he understood what's going on. "You know. The amount of people you kill."

Phil blinks. "What?"

Hawkeye draws in a breath to reply.

The Widow drops down from the ceiling. It's only Phil's years of training that keep him from startling. "There were five agents lying in wait," she says. "Remind me to thank Stark for the gauntlets."

"Remind me to remind you to thank Stark for the gauntlets," Hawkeye chirps, any hints of his previous aggression replaced by levity. The Widow cuffs him on the back of the head before turning to point her gun at Phil again.

Despite the more immediate threat of being shot in the head, Phil finds himself preoccupied in trying to work out what Hawkeye's playing at. It's obvious that he's got a personal vendetta against SHIELD, but Phil knows his files back to front and can't think of a single time that the agency managed to track down Hawkeye. He's cautious, elusive, and worse, smart, and Phil is slightly embarrassed by how much he wants to figure Hawkeye out.

"Start moving, Agent Coulson," the Widow says, drawing him out of his thoughts. "It's time for you to be acquainted with the helicarrier."


	2. Put Out Your Misery

It's dark outside the compound, the moon the only source of light in the night sky. The Widow by his side, Hawkeye at his back, Phil makes his way up the narrow path snaking around the mountainous area.

Long experience in the area has taught Phil that new supervillains tend to be extremely formulaic with their bases, as if ticking off items on a list. Underground? Check. Near a mountain? Check. Concrete bunker? Check. Maybe there's some kind of manual that gets sent around to aspiring villains.

Phil, distracted, nearly stumbles when the moon is covered by a cloud, plunging them into darkness. It's only the Widow's sudden grip on his upper arm that keeps him from tripping over the uneven ground. A low hum fills the air, pervasive and insistent, the quiet noise overtaking the silence of the darkness. Phil glances around, trying to ascertain the source.

Hawkeye and the Widow don't seem to be worried, so Phil consciously tries to relax, loosening his tense shoulders, doing his best to ignore every instinct that's telling him to prepare to fight.

"So how are we gonna get him up?" Hawkeye says, and when Phil turns to him, he finds him looking straight upwards. Following the line of his sight, Phil is immediately confronted with a sturdy-looking rope ladder.

When his eyes move upwards, he realizes that what he originally took for a cloud is anything but. "What the hell is that?" he says, trying to work out what the indistinct shape above him is.

"The helicarrier," the Widow says, and shoves her gun between his ribs, addressing Hawkeye without looking away from Phil. "We'll let Agent Coulson climb up first. I'll follow, and you'll stay on the ground until I give you the signal."

"Sure. I'm gonna aim for his butt, just in case he does something stupid."

Phil resolutely ignores the way he can feel his cheeks heat. Hawkeye's going to be staring at his ass. Just great.

"Aw, he's blushing," Hawkeye taunts, and Phil most definitely does not yelp an arrowhead jabs him from behind. "Come on, Agent, get to the chopper."

"Your Schwarzenneger impression needs some work," the Widow says, before motioning for Phil to start climbing.

Halfway up, Phil briefly considers making a run for it. He would be no match for the Widow in close combat, but if he could take her by surprise...

Hawkeye is on the ground, and Phil knows his aim is perfect, but there's always a moment between when the arrow is fired and when it connects with its target. He could sacrifice use of his left arm in exchange for protection, and that would leave him-

Alone, at night, in an island with no escape route. Thirty minutes have come and gone since Thor left the junior agents alone, and, even accounting for a delay due to skittishness and just a general lack of talent, they should already be on their way to the agreed rendezvous point.

And even if he did manage to get back on the boat, and even if he did manage to get back to SHIELD, Phil knows that he - and the junior agents, of course - would be subjected to several straight days of interrogation. SHIELD would never want to risk allowing compromised agents back into their ranks, and agents that have been taken hostage by the Avengers would most definitely be viewed as compromised.

Speaking of the Avengers, they're renowned for subduing supervillains and SHIELD agents alike by non-lethal means. Their usual MO consists of leaving the aspiring villain knocked out and trussed up in their lairs, easy pickings for the nearest law enforcement agencies.

As much as it pains Phil to admit it, the Avengers appear to be his best hope right now.

"Planning your escape route?" asks the Widow from below him, and Phil realizes that he's come to a stop only a short distance from the top of the ladder.

"No," Phil says, because he really isn't.

The Widow is silent for a moment. "Interesting."

When Phil reaches the top of the ladder, it takes him a moment to comprehend what he's seeing.

"Make your way up, Hawkeye," the Widow says, tapping her comm, before addressing Phil. "Welcome to the helicarrier, Agent Coulson."

When Phil turns to face her, he's surprised to find her holstering her gun. The Widow gives the barest of shrugs. "If you're good enough to hit me with those poorly hidden throwing knives, I'll be very surprised," she tells him.

"Have we got any food?" Hawkeye asks, clambering up behind them and closing the entryway with a soft thud. "I'm so fucking hungry."

"If you can convince Stark to pick up some pizza, be my guest," the Widow says, before heading to the spacious living area Phil's found himself in.

It looks like the SHIELD common room, except even larger. The floor is a lustrous mahogany wood, stretching across to a number of couches arranged around a flat screen television. Phil doesn't know what he was expecting, but it wasn't this.

"It's cool, right?" Hawkeye says, shaking out his arms. "I still can't believe Stark managed to come up with it. Say what you want about him, he really is a genius."

"What is this?" Phil asks, turning around. It looks nothing like the helicopter he was expecting.

"The helicarrier," Iron Man says, striding out of a doorway. He's out of his suit, holding a paper bag in one hand which he tosses to Hawkeye. Hawkeye, of course, catches it without even looking. "It's an aircraft carrier designed to be capable of independent flight."

"It's also designed to have a shooting range," Hawkeye pipes in, taking a wrapped burger out of the bag and immediately stuffing it into his mouth. "Mmm, Five Guys."

"And a swimming pool," the Widow says, having apparently procured her own burger from somewhere. "Also a highly weaponized security system designed to stop breaches from both inside and outside, so I highly suggest you discard any half-formed escape plans."

Phil carefully does not react when he discards his half-formed escape plan.

"Oh, right, the agent," Iron Man says. "I didn't know if you were vegetarian, so I got an extra cheeseburger and a veggie sandwich just in case."

"JARVIS reminded him to do it," Captain America says, looking surprisingly young outside of his uniform. "Tony was too busy boasting of how fast his suit is. Bruce is meditating in his room, by the way."

"You're just jealous, capsicle."

Iron Man throws a bag in Phil's direction, seemingly out of nowhere, and whistles approvingly when Phil catches it one handed. "What kind of training do you guys get at SHIELD?"

"That's classified," Phil says, and hides his tiny smirk at Iron Man's scowl behind his burger.

"So what exactly are we planning on doing with secret agent man?" Hawkeye asks, idly bouncing his balled-up paper bag against the opposite wall. "Not that I'm doubting you, Stark, but you don't have the best track record with plans."

Iron Man sticks his tongue out. "Negotiate with SHIELD, duh."

"Master Stark, some information has arisen regarding Agent Coulson's circumstances which may be of import," says the same disembodied voice from the compound. Phil peers around, trying to look for a speaker.

As one, the Avengers lean forward, Hawkeye straightening up from his slouch. They all congregate around Iron Man, who whips out a sleek-looking tablet from what appears to be thin air.

"What is it, JARVIS?" Captain America says, gazing at the screen with interest.

"Agent Phillip James Coulson of SHIELD has been declared missing in action, presumed dead," JARVIS says. "The World Security Council currently advises to capture any likeness of him on sight and submit him to their interrogation."

Phil, who had been frozen in place since JARVIS started speaking, carefully lowers his now-cold burger. He places it on the table in front of him, consciously relaxing his grip on it, before carefully placing his palms on his knees, sitting at attention.

"Wait, wait, hold up," Iron Man says, who isn't as blind to Phil's reaction as Phil thought he would be. "What exactly does that mean?"

"If Agent Coulson is recovered, the World Security Council will operate under the assumption that he is compromised," JARVIS says. "He will be placed into confinement and afforded the treatment of one suspected of aiding the Avengers."

The Avengers are silent.

"I guess ransoming him is out of the question," Hawkeye says. "I say we drop him off in Mexico or something with his guns."

"Clint," Captain America says, giving Hawkeye a Look.

Hawkeye looks away, fiddling with his fingers. "Or not."

The hatch suddenly opens, and a tall figure strides out of it. "I have returned from my mission of reconnaissance," booms Thor. "The agents have reached safe custody within the hands of SHIELD. What have you been discussing, my friends?"

"Agent here has been declared MIA, presumed dead," Iron Man says, jerking a thumb towards Phil. "We're trying to decide what to do with him."

Thor frowns. "What would that entail?"

"He would be subjected to interrogation by the World Security Council," the Widow pipes up unexpectedly, glancing at Phil briefly.

Phil had overseen the task force that managed to bring the Widow into custody nearly four years ago. She would know first hand the horrors that interrogation by the WSC entails.

"I believe the answer you are searching for is simple, then," Thor exclaims. "Why do you not simply ask the Son of Coul how he wishes to proceed?"

Iron Man stares at Thor. Thor stares back. Phil stares at both of them, because he cannot possibly be this lucky. "I was one of my father's generals, friend Anthony. The command of men is an art hard learned, and I have done my utmost to take it to heart."

Iron Man nods his head, conceding. "Point."

"So, Agent Coulson," Captain America says, turning to him, and the rest of the Avengers soon follow suit. "Do you want to return to SHIELD?"

Phil looks at them. From the Captain's earnest blue eyes to the Widow's faint smirk, from Iron Man's expressive eyebrow's to Thor's expectant smile, and, finally, to Hawkeye's unblinking stare.

That's the way he stays, matching Hawkeye's gaze, before, slowly and grudgingly, Hawkeye nods his head.

Since being captured, Phil hasn't once entertained the notion that the Avengers might be amenable to letting him make his own decision. Now, he considers it, examining it from all angles.

He knows why the World Security Council had declared him dead so quickly. Fury has been in their sights for longer than Phil has been in SHIELD, and, as Fury's right hand man, Phil had received his own share of not-so-veiled threats. It isn't a great leap of logic to conclude that the Council thinks SHIELD will be more manageable without him. Phil wants to tell them that they have another think coming if they truly believe Fury will roll over and submit after something as trivial as losing one of his top agents.

Phil's priority now is to get a message to his family. His mother, his father, his sister, his nephew, his soon-to-be niece. He's told his parents and Jen, his sister, about his work, and ever since they've urged him to leave SHIELD. He knows how they will react when they find Fury on their doorstep. He only needs to close his eyes to see the devastation on their faces.

He'd give anything to see them again, and that, more than anything, makes his next course of action clear.

Phil takes a deep breath. "When I joined SHIELD," he says, "I tried my best to do the right thing." He pauses, searching for words, trying to make them understand. "Promise me, promise me-"

"We don't kill," says a weary voice, and the Hulk, sleep ruffled, emerges from the corridor. "We don't kill, if that's what you're asking. We hunt supervillains, and we protect civilians, and we do not, under any circumstance, take a life."

The Widow nods, almost imperceptibly. Phil would have missed it if he hadn't been looking for it.

He still remembers the security tapes from her interrogation. The words that fell from her mouth, violent and raw and heartbreakingly honest.

Maybe it's Stockholm Syndrome, but he makes his decision right then and there.

"I've been a field agent for ten or so years, but my real expertise is running missions," Phil says. "With your permission, I'd like to help you coordinate."

"We already have a team leader," Hawkeye says, and Phil knows his shoulders are tensing up without even needing to look at him. "We work just fine."

"And yet you still need to resort to taking SHIELD agents as hostages in order to get your missions to a workable state," Phil reminds him. From the expressions on the faces of the rest of the Avengers, perhaps the barb cut a bit too deep. "This isn't an insult to your leadership, Captain." he says, in an attempt to ease the sting. "You will still be the one making the decisions on the ground. It's simply that, from experience, I know how difficult it is to fight on the frontline while still trying to make sure the rest of the team is on board with the plan. If you choose to let me help, I can ease some of the burden that's placed on you."

There's silence while the Avengers mull it over.

"He knows how to talk, at least," Iron Man says. "Steve?"

"We can do a test run," the Captain says. "On our next mission, I'll be in command, and we'll call him in if it gets complicated. I'm not sure if I completely trust Agent Coulson to have our backs, but in the chaos of a fight there's only so much he's going to be able to do to hurt us."

"For what it's worth, sir, his heartbeat and breathing have remained steady throughout his speech," JARVIS says. "I do not believe he is lying."

"Nor do I," the Widow says, and that, more than anything, seems to convince the others. "I'm willing to try it."

"I, too, will gladly throw my lot in with that of the Son of Coul," booms Thor. "It would be an honor to have you on our team."

"I'm game," the Hulk says, and Iron Man passes him the final paper bag. He starts to eat his sandwich with small, measured bites.

"I'm in if you're in, capsicle," Iron Man says, the lightness of his words betrayed by his steady gaze on the Captain.

Captain America slowly nods. "If Natasha trusts him, that's enough for me."

Phil turns to look at Hawkeye. He raises an eyebrow after a few moments, when it becomes clear Hawkeye isn't planning on breaking the silence soon.

"Clint?" the Widow asks softly.

Hawkeye scrubs his hand across his face. "Fuck," he says, quietly enough that only Phil hears it (and perhaps the Widow too). "All right. But if this blows up in our faces, I call dibs on using him for target practice."

"Okay, Agent," Iron Man says, turning his head to shoot Phil a cheerful grin. "Looks like you're in. Welcome to the Avengers. Thursday is mandatory team movie night, no excuses. JARVIS will lead you to a spare set of quarters when you're ready to sleep."

Phil can't hide his answering smile. To be honest, he isn't really interested in trying to do so in the first place. "Thank you," he says. "You won't regret it."


	3. It's All Up to You

Apparently Iron Man takes spare sets of quarters seriously. Phil's bedroom - more of a suite than a bedroom, if he's being honest - is spacious and accommodating, the bulk of the space devoted to an admittedly comfortable bed. He can't seem to fall asleep, though. Whenever he's about to drift off, his hand grasps for the weight of a gun under his pillow, and the abrupt flare of instinctual panic catapults him back into wakefulness.

The fourth time he wakes in a cold sweat, Phil calls it quits and sticks a throwing knife there. It isn't as heavy or as bulky as he's used to, and his sleep isn't completely restful, but it gets the job done.

"You're up early," Iron Man says, when Phil stumbles into the living area.

He's leaning on the back of one of the armchairs. Grease is streaked all over his arms and shirt, and when he shoots off a lazy salute, his palm leaves a dark smudge on his forehead.

More importantly, though, he's got a dirty-looking coffee cup held in one hand.

"Coffee," Phil says intelligently. Iron Man points to a wide open doorway, smirking. Phil would make a cutting remark if he had enough energy to do more than trudge towards the promised land of caffeine.

Phil finds himself in a kitchen, and his eyes immediately zero in on the shiny red coffee machine in the center of the counter island. There's half a pot left.

"I think it would be wise to slow down," the Widow says from behind him. Only years of practice with Fury's dramatics save Phil from spraying coffee across the room. "You're practically inhaling it."

"It's good, isn't it?" Iron Man says delightedly, having evidently migrated to the kitchen while Phil was distracted by the promise of black gold. "Just put the pot back in the machine, it automatically refills."

Phil finds himself agreeing with Hawkeye's words from the night before. Say what you want about Iron Man, the man really is a genius. "It is very good," he says. "Where do you get the blend?"

Iron Man launches into a story about procuring the perfect mix of arabica and robusta, detailing his experiments with beans from Latin America. Phil tunes him out around the time Iron Man starts explaining the differences between beans from Costa Rica and from Columbia.

"He's normally like this," the Widow says, replying to a question Phil hasn't asked yet. "When he isn't, we have a problem."

"Good to know," Phil says.

Sometime during Iron Man's monologue, the Hulk trudges into the kitchen, clumps of hair sticking up in different directions, before making himself a cup of tea.

It's then that Phil realizes what he's doing. He's on board a ship containing some of SHIELD's most wanted criminals - for a limited value of criminal, of course, being vigilantes and all - and is currently amidst three. Possibly four, if his instincts are correct and there really is someone in the ceiling vent.

The absurdity of it all manages to rattle out an involuntary chuckle from his throat. He's dedicated nearly half of his life to SHIELD, to 'fighting the good fight' as Hill would say in public ('fighting a godawful fight' in private), and now he's been declared compromised, missing in action, wanted alive for interrogation. It only begins to sink in now how his entire reality's been thrown out of whack in the space of less than 24 hours.

Objectively, Phil understands how it happened. He's entertained his doubts about SHIELD for years, doubts that started as easily-ignored questions at the back of his mind and slowly grew in scale into fully fledged fears about SHIELD's morality. The stance SHIELD had adopted towards the Avengers since the Battle of Manhattan didn't sit well with Phil at all. Phil had risked his life there, and would have died if it wasn't for Iron Man depositing him in the hands of SHIELD medical only seconds away from flatlining. That, more than anything, solidified his belief that the Avengers should not be persecuted so violently, but he'd been foolish enough to keep his objections to himself rather than speak up in support of the motley crew of vigilantes.

If he's being completely honest with himself, Phil had known even then that leaving SHIELD was in his not too distant future.

Knowing something and coming to terms with it, however, are two very different things.

"Breathe," the Widow says in his ear. Phil breathes, and the distinctive aroma of chamomile filters through to his brain, soothing in its familiarity.

The Widow's leaning over him, in the guise of reaching for a spoon to stir milk into her tea. While the Widow's presence alone makes his fingers itch for his gun, Phil appreciates the gesture, so he gives her the slightest of nods.

Her lips quirk.

"The brightest of mornings," Thor booms, carefully moving the still-monologuing Iron Man out of the way as he daintily drops two pop-tarts into the toaster. The Hulk has apparently woken up enough to progress to murmured hellos, and Phil returns Thor's greeting with slightly less exuberance.

The Widow remains silent, seemingly preoccupied with her tea. Only a moment later, she flings the teaspoon upwards, and Hawkeye falls onto the kitchen floor from the ceiling in a heap of limbs and a cut-off curse. Iron Man cuts off his own monologue with an undignified squawk.

"You could've said something if it bothered you, Nat," Hawkeye grumbles, straightening up from the floor and dusting himself off.

"Who says I didn't?" the Widow asks cheerfully, completely ignoring Iron Man's sputtering. The Hulk, fortunately, appears to be nonplussed rather than on the verge of becoming a giant green rage monster.

Hawkeye pouts. "Point," he says, twisting his fingers just like the Widow had only a moment ago, and Phil, with a jolt, realizes that Hawkeye is signing.

"Did you really say something, though?" he asks the Widow, clumsily spelling out the words. He'd had to learn it for a mission a few years back. His cover was as a sign language interpreter on a television network. He's rusty, but it's worth it for the way Hawkeye's mouth drops open.

The Widow's tiny smirk grows into a fully fledged smile. "No," she signs, and Hawkeye gives her the stinkeye.

"Was that sign language?" Captain America asks, a towel slung across his shoulders. Apparently the helicarrier comes stocked with a gym, too.

"So our agent knows how to sign, too," Iron Man says, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, if I hadn't firmly cemented myself as the only person in the room who's capable enough to build a functioning AI, I'd call him a robot."

"Sir," JARVIS's voice sounds. Phil really needs to stop being so taken aback whenever the AI decides to chime in. "While I'd prefer not to interrupt you so early in the morning, one of our satellites has observed an unusual level of activity in a remote location in eastern Russia."

"How unusual?" Iron Man says, waving at the others to keep the noise down.

"A hundred distinct individuals at the very least. They appear to have constructed a militarized base. After checking the online records of the Russian government, I have concluded that these operations have not been authorized."

The kitchen is dead silent.

"JARVIS," Captain America stops, before hesitating. "Do you think it might be..."

"I would not rule HYDRA out of the equation, sir," JARVIS says, sounding surprisingly grim for a mechanized voice. "In fact, I highly suspect the organization is involved to some extent."

"Fuck," Iron Man says.

Hawkeye is visibly confused, looking from person to person, and Phil, with a jolt, realizes that he probably can't hear the AI. He taps his finger to his lips, and, when Hawkeye's gaze zeroes in on him, mouths "HYDRA."

Hawkeye stares at him for a long while. Phil tries his best to stay still under the unwavering scrutiny. Hawkeye apparently doesn't need to blink.

When he finally looks away, the Widow is staring at him just as intently, an inscrutable expression on her face.

"Okay!" Iron Man says, clapping his hands. "So we've got an opportunity to test out Mr Agent-man's SHIELD-approved skills. JARVIS, change our course to the coordinates, please. The rest of you, get something to eat, I'm scheduling intensive plan-making starting in ten minutes. Okay, go!"

In a bizarre sequence of events, Phil finds himself the proud owner of a plate of maple syrup-covered waffles - the Avengers apparently stock batter in the fridge - and another cup of coffee.

He's shanghaied into the living room by the Widow, who drags him down to sit beside her on one of the two large sofas. Hawkeye follows unwillingly, sending disbelieving looks at Phil every once in a while. Phil does his best to ignore the way his neck prickles from being observed so intently and to keep his attention on finishing his food.

"Welcome, welcome," Iron Man says, the sober line of his mouth a sharp contrast to his joking manner. There's a holographic board behind him, displaying schematics of the compound they're planning on infiltrating. "Today we've had to schedule in an impromptu villain-fighting sequence, but, with luck, we'll be able to come back to the carrier for dinner. Capsicle, the stage is yours."

"Tony, you're in charge of scouting out the area and providing aerial support when necessary," Captain America says, drawing on the hologram. "Thor, you may also be needed as backup, but your main role will be to draw the bulk of manpower out of the compound."

Thor grins. "It is a great honor to be entrusted with subduing these forces. My hammer is at your service, friend Steven."

"Thanks, Thor. Bruce, you'll be fighting alongside him. JARVIS has indicated that the base is equipped with missile launchers, so all you need to do is get the Other Guy to take them out."

"Sure," the Hulk says. He's biting his lip, but his jaw is set in a determined line.

"Natasha, Clint, you're with me. Clint, you know the drill - and if you can spare some of your explosive arrows to deal with their munitions, that would be great. Tony will deal with scrambling their outside communications, but we need to shut down their weapons systems. Natasha?"

"It will be quick with Clint covering me," she says. "If necessary, I can operate alone."

"Thank you. Hopefully, it won't be necessary, provided the plan doesn't fall to pieces like last time."

Beside Phil, Hawkeye lets out a soft snort at the Captain's long-suffering expression.

"And, um, Agent Coulson," the Captain says, turning to Phil. "Tony?"

"I've whipped up a batch of personal cameras for us to wear," Iron Man explains, striding back out to the holographic board. He taps a number of buttons, and the image changes to a set of blueprints. "They can attach easily to fabric or skin - yes, even to the Other Guy, Bruce - and they shouldn't interfere with movement. I was planning on making more specific alterations, but these will do for now since we're pressed for time.

"Agent Coulson," he says, turning to Phil. "JARVIS will provide you with a live feed of the action on the ground. There are a couple of cameras on the helicarrier itself if you need them, and I'll be able to provide you with a full feed of the compound once I manage to hack into its systems."

"That would be very welcome," Phil says.

Iron Man nods. "Now, hopefully, everything goes to plan."

"I really hope so," Hawkeye grumbles. He says it quietly enough that Phil's pretty sure that it's directed towards him.

"But!" Iron Man jabs the air. "In case the mission goes to shit, we'll call you in. It'll be Steve's call, but we promise we'll dial you in if it goes FUBAR."

"That sounds reasonable to me," Phil says. "Will I need a communicator unit?"

Iron Man waves a hand. "JARVIS will route your messages anyway, but I can give you a comm if it makes you feel more comfortable."

Phil nods. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, really," Iron Man says, winking. "Now, we're going to reach our destination in half an hour or so, so get kitted out and grab a drink or something because this isn't going to be very pretty. Avengers, out!"

Each of the Avengers heads off in a different direction. The Hulk to his quarters, presumably to change his clothes into something more easily tearable; Iron Man disappears into another doorway that leads to a lab of some sorts; the Captain, the Widow, and Thor all head out to what appears to be a weapons area.

Hawkeye, however, remains still, perched beside Phil on the sofa.

"I don't trust you," Hawkeye says, when Phil makes as if to get up.

When he turns around, he finds Hawkeye staring at him with the same intensity as before. "I don't know what that was in the kitchen," Hawkeye tells him, "But if you think that's going to make me trust you, you really need to get your head checked."

"That wasn't my intention," Phil says quietly. He takes in the barely-restrained tension in Hawkeye's shoulders, the way he clenches and unclenches his hands, as if trying to grasp an arrow that isn't there.

"Good," Hawkeye says, "Because it didn't work. I don't know how you convinced Nat that you're trustworthy, but I'm not buying what you're selling."

"Look, Hawkeye," Phil says. "I mean, Barton. If I've done something to offend you, or-"

"Offend me?" Hawkeye laughs. It's a harsh, mean sound. "No. It's just that I've dealt with SHIELD before, and I learned the hard way that you can't trust 'em at all. I'm telling you now- if we fuck up the plan enough for you to take command, I don't care what Steve says. If I feel, even for a moment, that you're angling to hurt us, I'm gonna mute my hearing aids. And when I get back here, I'm gonna put an arrow through you where it hurts, no matter what the other Avengers say."

Phil stares at him. Hawkeye stares back.

He doesn't know what's going through Hawkeye's mind, but Phil's brain is currently hard at work trying to work out when, exactly, Hawkeye was in contact with SHIELD. Despite Hawkeye's claim of having dealt with SHIELD before, Phil is certain that Hawkeye has only a few mentions in SHIELD's database in the years preceding the Battle of Manhattan.

Hawkeye had been on SHIELD's radar since he was 16 and performing at Carson's circus, listed as a potential asset. Any encounters with assets, potential or not, must be reported. Phil finds himself unexpectedly furious at the unnamed agent who came into contact with Hawkeye, convinced him that SHIELD was not to be trusted, and then neglected to report his actions to official channels so they could be assessed and remedied.

Considering the alternative - that someone had disguised themselves as a SHIELD agent to take advantage of Hawkeye - leaves a bitter taste in Phil's mouth.

"Understood," he says, when it becomes clear that Hawkeye has said his piece.

With a nod, Hawkeye rises from the couch, stretching out his legs. "Glad you do," Hawkeye says, and leaves Phil alone with his thoughts.


	4. Only a Ring Away

"Last call for bathroom breaks!" Iron Man says, voice distorted through his armor. "Going once, going twice-"

"Shut up, Stark."

"C'mon, Romanov, you know you love me."

The Widow gives Iron Man a look.

"I'm loveable!" Iron Man protests, raising a hand to his chest in mock hurt. "Steve, tell her I'm loveable."

"Sorry, Tony," Captain America says. He's decked out in what seems to be a modern iteration of his traditional uniform.

In the privacy of his own head, Phil admits that it's incredibly bizarre to reconcile the Captain America standing before him with the hero that he (and most American children) had grown up idolizing. Seeing him in the flesh, an all-American hero turned vigilante... it goes completely against the image of the die-hard, militant patriot described by the many history books Phil has read over the years.

The irony of the situation isn't lost on Phil. He, more than anyone else in the upper echelon of SHIELD, had silently disapproved of the WSC's decision to attempt to reverse-engineer Captain America's blood after finding him frozen in his downed plane. Fury had attempted to make a case for reviving him, reintegrating him into society for use as a potential asset, but the WSC had dismissed it. In their eyes, the super-soldier serum was the most important part of Steve Rogers.

When Iron Man had downed half of Manhattan's power supply during his fight with the Iron Monger, Phil hadn't been surprised to hear that the Captain, having defrosted enough to regain consciousness, had managed to make his escape. Unfamiliar with the world around him, Captain America had searched for any remnants of his past, and had found it in the word STARK emblazoned across the tallest tower in Manhattan. The rest is history.

"Steve," Iron Man says, poking Captain America's shoulder.

"No."

" _Steve_."

"No."

" _Steeeeeeve_."

"Still no."

"The American public would have a collective heart attack if they knew how mean you are," Iron Man grouses.

Hawkeye snorts from where he's stretched languidly across the sofa. Even at ease, there's a deadly grace about him, and Phil tries hard not to stare.

It's difficult. Hawkeye's uniform is sleeveless, exposing his exceptional arms. To add insult to injury, he keeps toying with his bow, drawing the string back, and Phil's eyes keep straying to the way Hawkeye's biceps flex.

Jesus. He'd thought he'd left the "drooling over nice arms" stage of his life back in high school.

When Hawkeye notices Phil staring at him, his mouth immediately hardens into a harsh line.

The Widow pokes him in the side, and he straightens up from his slouch, scowling at her. "What was that for, Nat?"

"This is only Hydra," she says. "You're too tense."

"I can be tense if I want," Hawkeye grumbles, but he studiously avoids Phil's eyes when he leans back onto the sofa, his shoulders slowly relaxing.

"I'm ready," Bruce says, emerging from the corridor leading to his room. He's wearing a nondescript t shirt that hangs loose around him, and a mass of fabric draped around his waist that, on closer exception, appears to be a pair of oversized purple pants.

"I like the color," Hawkeye says approvingly, and Iron Man pouts.

"So you can say that you like the color but heaven forbid you let someone know you like me? That's cold, Barton. Cold."

"Friend Anthony, we are most blessed to be granted your company," Thor booms, armored and caped. He's twirling a hammer in his fingers absentmindedly, apparently uncaring that of its weight or its considerable size.

"At least Thor likes me. He's much better than you heartless, heartless people."

"Master Stark, we are fast approaching our destination," JARVIS says, and the Avengers straighten as one.

Captain America cracks his knuckles. "Okay, team. Remember - Thor, distraction. Bruce, rocket launchers. Clint, Natasha, infiltration with me."

"And I, of course, am your designated driver today," Iron Man chimes in, flipping his faceplate down. "If you need a ride just yell, or, better yet, blow something up."

Hawkeye looks amused despite himself, but when his gaze flickers to Phil, it turns cold again. For a moment, his words replay through Phil's mind - If I feel, even for a moment, that you're angling to hurt us - before Phil carefully tunes them out, making sure to outwardly display none of the tendrils of anxiety coiling in his stomach.

"Good luck," he mouths and signs, and is treated to an outright glare before the Widow jabs Hawkeye in the ribs again just as the hatch opens.

"And with that, kids, it's showtime," she says. The Hulk jumps out first, equipped only with the clothes he's wearing, and Phil barely makes out a yell that quickly turns into a bellowing roar before Thor's throwing himself out of the helicarrier as well. Iron Man is nearly as fast, catapulting upwards when he's a distance away from the aircraft.

Hawkeye grabs an arrow from his hip quiver, shooting it nearly as soon as he nocks it, aiming between one breath and the next. The arrow is followed by a narrow, dark zipline, which Hawkeye fits a trio of metal handles to before securing it to the top of the hatch. When Hawkeye gives the thumbs up, Captain America jumps first, grabbing one of the handles with both hands before quickly zooming downwards out of sight, shield strapped to his back.

The Widow follows more sedately, holding herself aloft with a single hand, leaving Phil alone with Hawkeye once more.

Hawkeye scrubs his hand across his face. "Goddamn it," he says, soft enough that Phil shouldn't be able to hear it, but Phil, a master of picking up office gossip without appearing to eavesdrop, can easily read his lips.

"I meant what I said," Hawkeye says when he looks up. His shoulders are set in determination, eyes set in an anger that Phil is doing his damned hardest to try to puzzle out. "Soon as you prove you can't be trusted, I'm on my own, and you're soon-to-be-without your family jewels."

He doesn't wait for a reply before ziplining away.

Here, in front of the open doors of hatch, alone, Phil allows himself the smallest of mental breakdowns.

He's a trained agent of SHIELD, for god's sake. He should be doing his damndest to escape. Fury'd probably keel over from apoplexy if he knew his right hand man had been reduced to cooperating with a motley crew of vigilantes. And that's not even addressing the issue with his persistent attraction to Hawkeye, despite how confusing and infuriating their interactions have been so far.

Phil counts to ten slowly before taking a deep breath and composing himself once more.

"Sir," JARVIS says, and Phil fights not to jump out of his skin. "I've taken the liberty of directing my camera feeds to a holographic screen in the living room. If you wish to observe the action, I can manipulate viewing angles and zoom as necessary."

"Thank you, JARVIS," Phil says. He isn't sure where to address the words - the ceiling? The walls? The floor? - but shakes off his momentary confusion as he strides back to the spacious common area.

As JARVIS has promised, the camera feeds are relayed on a holographic screen which, Phil is pleased to note, is curved in order to fit more streams of information into his field of view. He'd sooner die than admit it, but SHIELD R&D really could take some lessons from Iron Man's tech.

The Hulk and Thor are working in sync, their actions relayed from three different angles on Phil's left. Anything too sturdy for Thor to overcome is dealt with by the Hulk, and the base's limited aerial defense circles the two warily, kept at bay by the threat of Thor's lightning. A feed at the top of the screen must be through Stark's eyes, a slowly rotating view of the battlefield below.

Phil can catch glimpses of armored vehicles that were most certainly not included in the mission briefing, but he bites his tongue. It's not his operation to run.

He lets his eyes roam across the right side of the screen, a dozen feeds dedicated to the movement of the Widow, the Captain, and Hawkeye through the HYDRA base. While they're obviously attempting to avoid detection - and most likely succeeding - Phil tracks their progress by the play of shadows across the walls. The Captain is much stealthier than he would have expected from former military, but Phil supposes that being trained by the legendary Agent Carter herself would teach a man how to infiltrate an enemy facility undetected.

Phil fishes out the comm Iron Man had given him from one of the pockets of his suit. It takes him a moment or two longer than it usually would, unfamiliar with the pockets of his jacket. Iron Man, demonstrating his unique brand of humor, has apparently decided to outfit his quarters with enough suits to open a new offshoot of Dolce and Gabbana.

"-clear," Phil can hear from the comm, Hawkeye's voice whispering into his ear. "No signs of hostiles at all. This is making me nervous."

"I think it would be best for you to branch out," Iron Man chimes in, his voice slightly tinny from within the confines of his suit. "You've barely swept a quarter of the area, according to the blueprints JARVIS is relaying to me."

"What if they're preparing for an ambush?" the Captain says quietly. "We should stick together."

"I agree with Stark," the Widow murmurs, nigh imperceptible. Phil has to strain to make out what she's saying. "Clint, stay and cover Steve. I can cover more ground alone."

"Nat-" Hawkeye starts, before being cut off by Iron Man.

"Ha, she agrees with me!"

"Don't let it go to your head, Stark."

"I'm still not sure it's a good idea," Captain America says grudgingly, "But Nat- I mean, the Widow is right. She can cover more ground alone. Hawkeye, you're with me."

"All right," Hawkeye grumbles, "But I'm telling you, I've got a bad feeling about this."

Silence.

"I believe our friends are judging you for, as you would say, jinxing our mission," Thor joins the conversation, the sounds of battle echoing from around him. When he finishes speaking, the noise abruptly cuts off, and Phil has to bite his lip to restrain himself from letting loose an undignified chuckle in the ongoing silence.

"Well," Iron Man says after another few moments, his tone making it very clear that he's judging Hawkeye. "This is going to be fun. Hey, and if the worst comes to the worst, we could give our Agent a test drive!"

"Is he listening in?" Hawkeye says, louder than before, and is quickly shushed by the Widow, who's making her way to the north of the compound if Phil is triangulating her position correctly.

"Yes, I am," Phil says, speaking up for the first time. "Will that be a problem."

"Not at all," Hawkeye says, through his clenched teeth by the sound of it, and Phil can practically hear the return of the glare.

"Glad to hear it. JARVIS," he says, turning away his focus from Hawkeye because there's only so much outright dislike Phil can endure, "I heard Iron Man mention blueprints of the facility. Would you mind projecting those on my screen as well, please?"

"Certainly sir. My apologies for not doing so earlier."

"Don't worry about it."

It takes a moment for Phil to realize that the Avengers have abruptly fallen silent again.

"Huh," Iron Man says after a moment, sounding eerily similar to the Widow. "Okay, back to business. Thor, there's a larger aircraft coming. Could you blind them in order to make approach possible and prevent possible casualties? The helicarrier's still undercover, so they could potentially crash into it."

"With pleasure, friend Anthony!" Thor exclaims, and the rolling boom of thunder rumbles through the helicarrier not a second later. Phil, peering outside the still-open hatch - it's getting cold, but he isn't sure if he's permitted to close it - finds dark clouds that weren't there a moment earlier rapidly coalescing across the sky.

"Fuck," the Widow says, soft, and the sound of sudden running echoes through her end of the comm.

"What's the matter, Nat?" Hawkeye immediately asks, a frantic whisper.

"I've been spotted. Thor, we need to get the Hulk out of here immediately," she says urgently. "Stark, you need altitude, go up as fast as you can. I've seen this before, it's similar to an EMP-"

Phil feels more than hears the shockwave that sends both him and the helicarrier careening sideways, his shoes scrabbling for grip on the rapidly tilting ground. The holographic screen flickers in front of him, the camera feeds inside the base going completely dark. He barely avoid crashing down in a heap when the aircraft stabilizes.

Similar to an EMP, the Widow said. Panic claws at his chest, a familiar weight pressing down on his shoulders, and it's instinct more than conscious thought that has him biting, "Sitrep," into his comm.

"Hey-" Hawkeye starts, outraged, but Phil doesn't want to hear it.

"Sitrep, now," Phil says, louder this time. A moment too late, he remembers where he is, what he's doing, but the Widow begins talking before he can control himself enough to muster up an apology.

"The last HYDRA base we eliminated, we found prints for an experimental technology," she says grimly, in between breaths. "It operates similarly to a modern EMP, but with much stronger concussive force. It's designed to emit a field of electromagnetic energy to induce a technology blackout. We're lucky the EMP-proofing on our comms has held up."

Phil forcibly prevents himself from clenching his hands into fists. "Iron Man, what's your status?"

"I'm fine," Iron Man says, more subdued than earlier. "A little bruised, but the suit's working properly again. Power only got knocked out for a moment or so, but the compound is completely dark from my end. I think the shockwave was a side effect of whatever it was they're testing."

"Thor? Hulk?"

"Friend Bruce has regained his human form," Thor informs him. "We have dismantled the weaponry of the ground forces, so I have taken the liberty of carrying him to a safe distance."

"What the fuck are you guys doing?" Hawkeye spits. "This is Steve's mission! Why the hell are we listening to a SHIELD-"

"Hawkeye," Captain America says quietly, and Hawkeye mutters a cut off curse before subsiding. The Captain hesitates a few moments before responding. "I've never dealt with this before."

"It's an EMP!" Hawkeye practically yells. "We've dealt with this shit so many times I've lost count! Why the fuck are we bringing in-"

"Shut up and let Steve decide," the Widow says.

"Nat-" Hawkeye says, sounding betrayed. "Nat, but-"

"This is not your call to make, Clint," she tell him. "We agreed that for the Avengers to work, we need a team leader. Steve is our leader. On the field, you follow his calls."

Hawkeye falls silent.

"Steve," Iron Man says. "Something's blocking JARVIS's sensors. The inside of the base is completely dark."

"As if the low ceilings weren't enough to make us feel trapped, they had to cut us off from the outside for an extra dose of claustrophobia," the Captain mutters, seemingly to himself. "Fuck."

"Holy shit, the capsicle swore-"

"Shut up, Tony."

Phil itches to argue his case, to explain why they should let him take over, but he knows it wouldn't do any good. Besides, he's greatly perturbed by how quickly he's grown protective of the Avengers. If this is Stockholm syndrome, it's one hell of an influence.

"Fuck," Captain America says again. "If this goes to pieces, I don't know what I'll do. Agent Coulson, you are permitted to take control of this operation."

Hawkeye's comm is completely silent. Phil hopes, he really hopes that Hawkeye can find it in himself to trust Phil, if only for a moment, rather than immediately abandon his comm and act by himself.

"Thank you, Captain," he says, choosing his words carefully. "JARVIS, could you please pull up the layout of the compound again?

"Yes, sir," JARVIS says, and the holographic display is filled by a map of the base. Phil hates going into a mission blind, but at least he remembers the last known locations of each of the three Avengers inside. Come to think of it, Phil doesn't particularly need to see the layout anyway. He'd already committed the map to memory.

"Widow, status report."

"I've managed to evade capture. From the little I saw, there was a significant amount of manpower there. The only reason I managed to escape was the element of surprise."

Phil takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, still on edge. "Has anyone else changed position following the aftermath of the shockwave?"

"You mean if we've moved?" Hawkeye snipes, and, while Phil could do without the sarcastic commentary, he finds himself alarmingly glad that Hawkeye's taking a leap of faith and choosing to trust Phil, and least for now. "Because I'm still crawling in the same fucking vent I was in before."

"I haven't changed position," Captain America reports.

"I'm currently in a computer lab," the Widow says. "I had to use the ventilation system to make my escape. I believe I moved two hundred meters or so to the east, and another twenty to the south."

"Any injuries?" Phil says, following her path with a finger. Her estimates are apparently correct, as he lands on a computer lab as she described.

"It takes a little more than a little run to hurt me, Agent Coulson," the Widow says, and Phil is pretty sure that her words are colored by the barest hint of a smile.

"I'll keep that in mind. Captain, face the door you originally entered the room by. On your left should be a corridor leading to a workshop. If you go through it, take the door furthest away from you on the right side of the room, and that should lead you to the Widow."

"Confirmed," the Captain says. "Heading there now."

"Hawkeye, assuming you're still facing the same direction, the vents should branch out in a few meters. You want to make your way through the left vent, continue forwards and turn right at the second vent you pass. If you continue, you should spot the Widow's current location on your right."

"What if I don't want to?" Hawkeye asks.

Phil finds himself pinching the bridge of his nose. "Then you'll find yourself lost in the vents and separated from your team."

"I don't buy it," Hawkeye says.

"Hawkeye," Phil says, trying his best to keep his voice steady. God, Hawkeye's seemed to have turned getting on peoples' nerves - specifically, Phil's - into an art form. "If you make your own way, I won't be able to track your position through-"

"Oh, fuck off, Agent Coulson," Hawkeye sneers. "I've seen those plans too, and I know there were no goddamn vents outlined in the prints."

"Barton-" Iron Man starts, but Phil beats him to it.

"Do what you want," Phil says into his comm, injecting every ounce of venom he can muster into his words. "If you want to get yourself killed, then there isn't much I can do to stop it."

There's silence on the comms for a long moment.

"I see you, Nat."

"Good," Phil exhales. He knows he should probably apologize, but, to be quite honest, he doesn't particularly want to. "Now that you've grouped up, we need to devise a way to disable the device. The laboratory the Widow found has three entrances, but I'm assuming that the one she used is currently overrun by patrols, so that would be out of the question."

"I could serve as a distraction," Captain America says grimly. "They've been after my blood for years. The moment they see my shield, they'll divert all their forces into trying to capture me."

"Look, Steve," Iron Man drawls, and Phil jumps. He'd nearly forgotten about the other Avengers. "I don't know about you, but I'm not particularly excited about giving HYDRA another attempt at reverse engineering the super-soldier formula."

"I agree," Phil says. For some reason, he feels like he's missing something obvious. He leans closer to the screen, observing the print.

Unbidden, Captain America's earlier comment flits through his head. As if the low ceilings weren't enough to make us feel trapped, he'd said.

"Widow," Phil says. "How large is the device in question?"

The Widow hums softly. "I'd estimate six or so meters, perhaps more. I wasn't close enough to obtain a more accurate measurement."

"And the ceiling?"

"Is this really what we're focusing on? Their interior design?" Hawkeye says disbelievingly, and Phil is struck by a sudden urge to flip him the bird.

"It was a larger space. The ceiling was domed." It only takes her a moment to reach the same conclusion Phil has. "There's another way in. Clint, we'll need you to climb."

"Aw, Nat, _no_."

"Clint, how many exploding arrowheads have you got on you?" Captain America asks suddenly.

"Explosions?" Iron Man says. "Did someone say explosions?"

"What do you mean? I've got all twenty," Hawkeye grumbles, and Phil is torn between laughing until he cries or slamming his head into the nearest available hard surface. Of course Hawkeye has exploding arrowheads that he hasn't mentioned until now. Of course.

He ends up doing neither. "If the ventilation system stretches across the ceiling, this could be the set up of the distraction we need to overpower HYDRA's forces. Make your way up to see."

"Make your way up, he says," Hawkeye grouses, but his complaining is halfhearted at best. "Makes it sound so fucking easy, right?"

The sound of fabric rubbing against metal echoes through Hawkeye's comm, and Phil waits with bated breath for Hawkeye to reach the top. The sounds stop, and it's silent for one, two, three moments before Hawkeye says, somewhat begrudgingly, "What do you know? There's a vent cover here."

"Can you shoot through it?"

"No shit. I'm Hawkeye."

Phil decides that an eye roll can't hurt. It's not like anyone is around to see it, after all.

"Widow, Captain, there's a corridor to the left of the vent Hawkeye entered. Follow it and take the third door from your right, and turn left at the next corner. If there are HYDRA troops, we'll utilize Hawkeye's arrows as a distraction, but I'd prefer to keep the element of surprise on our side."

"Affirmative," the Widow says.

Phil's fingers tingle with the rush of coming up with a working plan, a counterpoint the beginnings of the adrenaline rush he can feel flooding his system. It's an ingrained response at this point.

Harsh breathing suddenly echoes through the line. "One man standing guard," the Captain says quietly after a few moments. "The Widow's neutralized him with her gauntlets. Coast is otherwise clear."

"Excellent," Phil says. He wishes he was at his desk, had something to grip, to fiddle around with instead of curling his fingers helplessly. Every plan came down to this moment - the point of no return, from where it was sink or swim. He gives himself a moment, then another, and finally says, "Hawkeye, fire."

A loud explosion fills Phil's ears, the sounds of muffled shouting. Flesh hitting flesh, a scream, choked off gasps, the soft thwit, thwit of arrows being fired.

"I'm at the control panel-" Captain America says, before cutting himself off with a choked off, "Hawkeye-"

A soft sigh, a loud gasp of air. "Knee shot," Hawkeye says.

The whirr of machinery, a final yell cutting off with a strangled grunt, and, finally, deep, slow breaths.

It takes Phil a moment to realize that the ringing in his ears is his lungs informing his body that he's about to run out of oxygen. He finally lets himself breathe, unclenching his fists, rubbing the crescent shaped imprints left by his nails, a stark white against his skin.

"Mission is a success," the Widow says, just as the camera feed flickers back onto the holographic screen.

"And good riddance," Hawkeye murmurs, but he's quieter than before.

"So!" Iron Man exclaims. "I've got a tracker on your heat signatures, so if anyone has a problem with me blowing up the roof of this damn building to get you out, speak now or forever hold your piece."

"God fucking-" Hawkeye starts, before his words are cut off by a whoosh of air.

Phil finds himself reaching out reflexively to catch someone who isn't there, and freezes, staring at the screen. Hawkeye's dot isn't moving.

He can't breathe, until-

"Stark!" Hawkeye bellows. "Stop making me jump off roofs!"

"Technically, that was a ceiling," the Widow says, calm and collected.

Captain America bursts out laughing.

"Agent Coulson," JARVIS says, and Phil nearly jumps out of his skin again. He's startled to find Thor and Bruce seated on one of the couches, the latter ensconced in a blanket, much like the events of yesterday. Thor gives him a sunny grin and, after a moment of carefully contorting his fingers, a thumbs up. "I believe it would be advisable for you to sit down."

"Um, yes," Phil says, blinking slowly. "Yes. Thank you, JARVIS."

"It is no trouble, sir."

Phil sits down, puts his head in his hands, and tries to control his breathing.

"So," Iron Man says, a few moments later. "Anyone up for shawarma?"


End file.
